


Bolt

by HobbitKitten



Series: Tell Me Everything [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitKitten/pseuds/HobbitKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Dean walks out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bolt

 

Our entire "relationship" consists of quick fucks when and where we can snatch them. Largely from necessity.  But today is different. By some miracle, the cast has a full weekend off. Two luxurious, entire days. Aidan and I have spent basically every minute of this treasured day off moving as little as possible from my couch, watching terrible daytime television, munching whatever crap I have sitting around and alternatively drinking tea or beer, depending on the motivations of whoever's turn it is to fetch beverages. Most of the day he's been lying more than half on top of me, but still he doesn't quite fit on the couch - one long, delightful leg or the other perpetually dangles comfortably off to one side. He's warm, and cozy, and happy, and pliable, and I could absolutely get used to this. Yeah. Absolutely. I can't stop thinking about how I would love to never let him leave my couch. And by the time the sun starts to set, I can't help it. I'm at it. Fucking with a good thing.

"Unngh... Aidan, dammit, I'm trying to talk to you."

His voice is muffled. Obviously. Because he's simultaneously talking and nibbling on my collar bone. "I know. 'nd I'm tryin' to change the subject." I feel goosebumps appear as cool air finds my stomach. Aid is sliding a strong hand up under my T-shirt, bunching it up as he goes.

I grit my teeth. "Not gonna work."

"Mmm. Don't underestimate me."  He switches tactics. Prick. His weight shifts and he pushes my shirt up with more deliberate purpose while simultaneously moving his supremely talented lips down to my chest. He starts kissing, and licking, and at this state in our relationship (or friendship, or whateverthefuckyouwannacallit) he knows exactly which spots to hit to get me going. I'm about out of time to make my point.

"No...no.. listen. We've been doing... uggggh... this. For months. I just want to know - Good God!" Aidan pops the button on my trousers with his fucking teeth. I look down at him and he's nearly glaring back, eyes dark, breath hot and quick on my stomach. His lips are ... perfect. And glistening. And he licks them purposefully. And my head is spinning because very little blood is making it to my brain. He shifts his gaze and returns to my stomach, sucking a mark just below my naval. He knows I hate it when he leaves marks.

"Ffffff- Stop that..."

"This?" His talented fingers have found their way 'round my cock and he starts in with long, slow, god, perfectly measured strokes.

"N-no." But I'm determined. I push on. "Been... doing... this... I wanna know...fuuuuck... wanna talk about..."

My words and my train of thought falter as he's suddenly taken my length in to his mouth. Well mouth's not really accurate. I've never been able to take a cock as deeply into my throat as he can. It is... truly impressive. He's really enthusiastic today, but wetter and sloppier than his standard, fucking perfect, blowjob. So. With what was basically a Herculean effort (be impressed. Seriously.), I continue. "Wanna know...oh my god, keep going...is this, us ... Fuck! Do that again!... dating. Are we - "

And then I give up. Don't judge me, you would too. Because somehow during all of the frantic sucking, he's managed to remove his pants. And he's straddled me. And with a gasped/whispered "Shuddup Deano," he's lowering himself on to me.

My hands scramble on his arms in a vain attempt to stop him. He's going to hurt himself. "Jeezus, Aid! Don't - lube -" But he twists his arm away from me and braces himself on the couch. "Shut. Up."

He's slowly easing himself on to my cock, and he's so, so tight. He closes his eyes and grimaces slightly. I reach for him again, gasping, half out of my mind "Aid..."

His eyebrows draw together and he slaps my hand away. "Quiet, dammit." I cave.

Finally, slowly, I'm completely inside him. My mind is reeling. For an agonizing moment, he doesn't move, except to let his head loll backwards slightly, pausing to let his body adjust. He takes a few long, slow breaths and the tension etched on his dark features dissipates. He starts to move, and even if I wanted to talk now, I couldn't. He eases himself up, and down slowly, evenly... at first. It's excruciating. I'm desperate to lay in to him. Just, pound him in to oblivion. But our current positioning has leverage, and thus control, on his side. Which the control freak in me doesn't exactly care for.

However, the artist in me loves my present angle. I have a view to be envied. The muscles on Aidian's legs and arms are strained, bulging, with the effort of supporting his body and setting a steady pace. His chest begins to glisten with sweat, and a flush is progressing from his face downward. For a fleeting moment I wish I could paint him. Or photograph him. But when he leans forward, one hand on my chest, one on my shoulder, bruising, and starts to ride hard, slamming himself down forcefully, faster, more erratically, I couldn't care less about art. He's gasping, it's almost musical, and I'm doing my best to thrust my hips upward to meet him. My hands scramble at his waist to urge him along. I know I can't stand this for much longer, so I take hold of his weeping cock and start stroking him. There's no finesse in it. It's a fast, hot, sweaty fuck. And I love it. I feel him shudder, feel his cum spreading over my hand, spurting on to my chest, my shirt, hear him gasping my name. And I could not love it more. And Aidan. God fucking bless 'im. He keeps up his pace, fucks himself hard on my dick until I'm coming so hard I quite literally see stars behind my eyelids.

And we're back again, collapsed on my couch. Perhaps not as innocently as before, but just as comfortably, even with a layer of sweat and cum between us and our clothes tangled around various limbs. Aid's collapsed on my chest, and I can feel his hammering heart slowly returning to a normal rate. We lay together in silence for a bit, and I lazily trace my fingers up and down his spine. Finally I break our silence.

"Yer an idiot, Aid."

"Mmm."

"Gotta point out a flaw in your super subtle plan."

"Mmm?"

"I still wanna talk to you, and I doubt you can do _that_ again on one minute's rest. And if you're capable of walking, let alone running away, I'll be supremely impressed."

He literally growls into my chest. He doesn't move, but he tenses. It's like he's coiled and ready to flee. I wrap both arms around him now, flattening my right hand to rub more deliberate circles on his back. For two reasons. One: to try and relax him. Two: I'll be damned if he wiggles away and avoids this.

"I'm not making any demands here Aid. But for my own peace of mind. I just want to know if we're just fucking or if there's more to this. An "us" or whatever. Cuz it sure feels like we're dating. Cuddling on the couch? Sex at any given opportunity? Sneaky kisses on set? Midnight chats? And I don't know about you, but I haven't fucked anyone else in months. Feels like dating."

There. It's out there. We lie there in an increasingly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. His voice, when he answers is so soft, so timid, as to be barely audible. Hard to believe it's him speaking.

"I can't date you Deano."

I don't stop rubbing his back. I'm honestly surprised he answered me at all. "Why's that?"

Another long pause. "Wouldn't feel honest."

Honest? Odd choice of words. Not 'It would be wrong,' 'It would be unprofessional,' 'It wouldn't be practical,' but it would be dishonest?

"I'm not sure what you mean Aidan."

He gives a deep, shuddering sigh. "We're friends. You don't have to tell a friend all your... romantic... secrets. If I dated you. If we. There are things a... boyfriend..." (the word seems to stick in his throat) "... a boyfriend might deserve to know that a friend doesn't need to."

I laugh/snort involuntarily and regret it immediately as he tries to get the leverage necessary to push away from me.

"No, no, no. Hang on. Is that seriously it? Everyone has at least ONE dodgy sex story. You wanna hear a couple of mine? Shit, you're _in_ a couple of mine!"

"'S not it."

"Afraid to share your number? 'Coz I honestly couldn't care less if you've slept with five people or twenty five. Or whatever. You've got an absurd number or something?"

A quiet sigh. Or maybe a breathy laugh? "Yeah. But not it."

A frightening thought hits me. I can feel the blood drain from my face. I mean we're pretty careful... except today... "You sick?"

"Christ! No, Dean!"

He's got his hands underneath him now and he shoves up and off of me, easily breaking free of my hold. It strikes me how strong he is. Which makes the fact that he lets me manhandle him crazy hot... ugh! Not the time!

I refocus quickly, but I'm not quick enough to stop him pulling his trousers up. Pity. He wipes sweat and cum off his chest with his shirt and angrily tosses the soiled article of clothing across the room. He glares in my general direction but refuses to meet my eyes. I sigh. I guess we're fighting now. For the record, that feels like a very 'boyfriend' thing to do, just saying.

He's clearly agitated. I could drop it. I _should_ drop it. But I plow forward.

I stand and shove my legs in to my own trousers. "You know, Turner, you could have just told me that you're only looking for a cheap fuck. Could have said you're dating someone. Could've said anything. Could've lied. I would've believed you. And we could go on being fuck buddies, no problem. Instead you tell me half a truth, and a whole truth is reserved for something more serious than a boy-toy. And you expect that to be totally cool. The fuck kind of game you playing, mate?" I sort of bite out the word mate, and his eyes snap up to meet my own, momentarily. They look a little sad. Still pretty furious, don't get me wrong, but sad. Which freaks me out a little.

"You're right." He sounds defeated.

We're silent for what feels like ages but is really just a minute or two. I don't really know how to respond to that. Usually fights end when one person admits the other is right... right? You'd think I'd like the thought of being right. I don't. He's turned his back to me, arms hugging his bare chest protectively, staring absent mindedly out the window. The room is dark and the light of the setting sun filtered through the sheer curtains plays nicely off his skin. Goddamn it! It's really hard to fight effectively with someone this beautiful. When he speaks though, it's rather off-putting. His tone is cold and he doesn't sound angry, or sad, or ... anything. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right. And really, the likelihood that we're going to fuck again is pretty slim, either way. So if it'll stop your pestering me, why the fuck not." He's not really talking to me right now. It sounds more like he's talking to himself, convincing himself to come out with whatever it is. There's another pause.

"Yeah. Short version then, eh? I had a lot of bills to pay when I was at drama school. And I paid my way working at an escort service."

I've got nothing. I'm floored. I'm sure I've misunderstood. I'm gaping. I know it. I can't stop. I can't speak.

He glances back over his shoulder and has no trouble looking me dead in the eye now. It's slightly creepy: his voice entirely calm, cold even, but tears streak his cheeks. "I was remarkably good at my job. And in very high demand."

He turns back toward the window.

I bolt.

**Author's Note:**

> So... this started out as me wanting an excuse to practice porn-y writing. I figured that a great way to do that would be to make Aidan an escort. Honestly, I've read a couple fics that had either Kili or Aidan in an AU as a whore which I reeeeaaaallly liked. So I decided to see what happened if I gave Aidan a shady secret past and still had him working on the Hobbit films. And then I'd just write a bunch of flashbacks to his whore-y days. And then of course an Aidean plot snuck in, because I love me some Aidean.
> 
> As always, pure fiction, I sadly don't know these characters.  
> Comments and/or constructive criticisms welcome.


End file.
